Tria Dux Ducis
by LucasLAD
Summary: Tria Dux Ducis - The Three Generals. Throughout recorded history the plight of heroes has been told in grandiose tales and songs. However fact is usually far from fiction, this is the story of three boys' journey through trials, love, and war.


I know I probably have too many irons in the fire to be starting another story, but this has been on my mind for entirely too long and I at least need to get it on paper (so to speak)

I know I probably have too many irons in the fire to be starting another story, but this has been on my mind for entirely too long and I at least need to get it on paper (so to speak). Please take it for what it is and enjoy. This will incorporate parts of book six and completely ignore book seven. It will be split into two stories overall.

Disclaimer – I do NOT own Harry Potter.

Throughout history there have been recorded instances of seemingly normal people doing the extraordinary. No matter the odds against these individuals they have overcome the greatest heights and the lowest depths. These stories often tell of grand adventures and insurmountable odds, history however, has taught that more often than not fact is far from fiction.

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**Chapter – 1**

His hands shook in frustration, how could something be so mind bending? This enemy was well beyond his realm of knowledge. There was no chance of winning, all hope had fled from his cause, indeed Harry Potter was staring into the face of the first challenge he could not muscle through with sheer power.

"Bloody hell!" He shouted in frustration, at the same time slamming his potions book shut. It was no surprise professor Snape was being particularly nasty to those that had entered into his N.E.W.T. level class. Once finding out that one Harry Potter had managed a seat, all bets were off, and the first day of classes had two feet of parchment due on vampire repelling potions and the after effects of long term use.

A loud hammering on the door startled him to his feet and his wand was trained on the door, he relaxed when his uncle's booming voice came through, "Stop it with your wretched racket boy! NORMAL people are attempting to sleep!"

Harry merely ignored him and flopped down on his bed. This year was going to be a handful, Voldemort was on the move and now everyone knew it. How was he, a gangly sixteen year old, going to destroy the most feared man in the wizarding world? It was incomprehensible what was expected of him. He rolled over and reached a hand under his bed and retrieved a small ball of cloth. Carefully unfolding the layers revealed the broken two-way mirror that was given to him by his, now deceased, godfather. His eyes automatically narrowed into a withering glare for a multitude of reasons: Dumbledore's outright ignoring of him, Kreacher's treachery, the minister's outright denial of Voldemort's return, and the dark wizard himself. It all burned inside him like a raging fire that could not be extinguished. He had come to some sort of reconciliation with the aging headmaster of Hogwarts and thanks to the oaths of the House of Black, Kreacher would spend every morning till the end of his days tormented by the dark arts. The minister had been sacked and a recent headline stated that he had reached the end of his miserable life, and Harry couldn't bring himself to even care. The remaining issue was the source of everything, Voldemort. The power hungry monster had already begun to move, though mostly in the muggle world for some reason. Although he did not miss the chance to exterminate a wizarding family, when the opportunity presented itself. He refolded the torn shirt around the shards of glass, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His glare not wavering, though not directing it towards anything, he merely stared. He needed more training, more power, his luck had carried him to where he was now and only a fool relied on good fortune.

He sighed and looked out at the orange colored moon, "What to do?"

In another part of England a similar young man was in the backyard of his grandmother's home, tending his garden. As he carefully removed a weed from around the nightshade he had worked so hard all summer long on, he lamented on how the end of his previous semester went. He had broken his father's wand, which infuriated his grandmother to no end. As he jerked the final weed free from its place Neville Longbottom wiped the sweat from his brow and sat down on the cool ground, thankful that the hard to manage plant which only bloomed on the night of the full moon chose such a cool evening to do so.

"Neville?" called an elderly voice from the direction of the house, "Dinner is ready, will you be eating with me or should I put something aside for you?"

Neville looked down at the flower bed full of blooming nightshade and smiled, "Not tonight Gran, I have to get all this picked before morning or I'll lose it all."

The old woman smiled, "Suit yourself then," she replied. The words would never bring themselves forward, but she was so proud of what he was doing. After he arrived home he had thrown himself at every book on herbs and herbology that he could. Just when the elderly woman was beginning to really get concerned he had stormed out of the house's library and smiled, exclaiming that he had found it. At dinner that night he had brought everything full circle with a brief, but informative, explanation. The nightshade blossom was technically a poison that had degenerative nerve properties, meaning it could be used to destroy the damaged nervous systems in his mother and father, all they needed was a highly skilled healer. It was a long shot but if there was a chance, he would try with all his might. She knew it wasn't a cure, but at least those god awful seizures would stop.

Outside the brown haired boy plucked the last of the violet plant blossoms, it was the first step down a long road. The potion would take a year to brew and even though he'd cultivated over one hundred plants there would only be enough for a half-a-vial full. He prayed it would be enough to at least stop the convulsions, the last one his mum had was so horrible he had to look away. Her body jerked so hard she had broken her arm and nearly bitten her tongue off. He swore that day that he would find Bellatrix and she would pay every episode back with interest. Her husband on the other hand, he wouldn't be given the satisfaction of watching his wife scream, no he would be dead in an instant.

"I'll fix this, I promise," he pledged.

Finally in Scottland an odd occurrence was taking place. As most of the wizarding world quickly learned of the re-emergence of the Dark Lord Voldemort, it was without saying that you avoided England as a whole. The oddity was that a family would actually move into, instead of out of, such a place. Though that is exactly what had happened, causing one sixteen year old boy to come to the greatest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world, to register for the upcoming term. Christian Blake was as mediocre a wizard as one could be. He stuffed his hands in his pockets while continuing his brisk walk to the magical carriage that had brought him from Hogsmead to the castle. After several aptitude tests and a magical core verification he was sorted into the house of Ravenclaw, though he had ranked low on the core testing his IQ test was breaching the one hundred and seventy five mark and he scored perfect on his aptitude exams. One of the testing instructors even made a comment to the tune of, "insufferable know-it-alls," which he merely shrugged it off, chalking it up with other comments home tutors had made throughout his lifetime.

He was born and raised in Sydney, Australia even though his mother was originally from England. According to her they had moved when the first war with Voldemort was picking up steam, at the request of his father, a man he knew nothing about. Life for Christian was as normal as it could be, that is, until four months ago when his mum received a letter from the headmaster of Hogwarts requesting her for a position of Defense against the Dark Arts. The young man found this even more laughable considering his mother had ran away from the last war.

Once he arrived home he began making a list of books he would need that corresponded to the already impressive amount of course material that was required. Once he completed the list he moved to the living room and grabbed a book, Hogwarts a History, Christian learned long ago having as much information as possible was the best way to avoid anything uncomfortable and embarrassing. Being a person that hated attention, it was a top priority for him. After several hours he snapped the book shut, it was nearing ten o'clock and he would have to leave early in the morning to get everything he needed, especially with all the last minute shoppers clamoring about the alley. His mother informed him that she would be remaining at the school till the start of the term, as is customary for all teachers a week before classes begin.

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It's a short beginning, but I think it hits a nice opening note.


End file.
